


Once Burned, Twice Soothed

by shiningjedi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Explicit Language, Found Families, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13320171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningjedi/pseuds/shiningjedi
Summary: Han grew up on his own.  He’d never needed a parent. He wasn’t going to bloody start needing one now.(Spoiler: he was.)





	Once Burned, Twice Soothed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SerenLyall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenLyall/gifts).



Han’s nineteen, and with a blaster, and on the run from the Empire, and the last thing he wants is a fucking _Wookiee_ , with muscles the size of his head and teeth as sharp as a dagger and a heart big enough to carry mountains, tagging along with him and darning his torn clothes and cleaning up his scrapes and bruises with a swab he had from gods-know-where.

He grew up on his own. He’d never needed a parent. He wasn’t going to bloody start needing one now.

* * *

 

* * *

_(“_ You saved my life, Han, _” he tells him every day, looking up from where he’s frying some form of sustenance on broken circuit boards, “I_ owe you a life debt. That’s how this works.”

_“Well it ain’t the way it works with humans, Chewbaca,” he replies every day, telling himself repeatedly that the food doesn’t smell good, “’cause the moment somebody helps somebody else, that’s called ‘exposing a weakness’ and you’re done for.”_

_Chewie sniffs at the circuit board, flips whatever’s frying over._ “Why did you do it, then?”

_Han never answers, just digs his fingers into the filth on whatever ground they’re slouching on.)_

* * *

 “ _You look tired and grumpy_ ,” says Chewie, startling him out of his angry thoughts and regarding him from where he was trying to get the engines working on the second-rate speeder they’d knocked out some Imps for the other week.

He snarls, in the way he’s already picked up from him despite his sincere efforts, lip curling in a casual warning of his displeasure. “Maybe that’s ‘cause I am.” His stomach grouches at him, and he remembers that they’d been frying stolen fruits and insects for the last three nights. “And hungry, too.”

Chewie tilted his head up to one side, regarding him, then jumped down from the speeder, stretched his long limbs, picked up his bowcaster, and started to walk away.

Han swore to himself that he didn’t feel his heart crack. “Finally clued in that I’ve got no use for a seven-foot grandmother, then?” he called, words coming out like vomit as he felt a pain in his chest, and Chewie turned back. His eyes showed hurt, just for a moment, before it was gone, and his words came out with a heavy under-growl behind them.

“ _I’m going to find you some substantial food, so you should assume that’s a ‘no’_.”

Han cursed and forced his mouth to twist into an approximation of a grin, trying to act disappointed as the Wookiee walked into the godsdamn sunset.

* * *

* * *

“ _Hey, there, Han_ ,” growled a gentle voice, and he started and went to reach for his blaster before his eyes focussed and huge shadow looming over him morphed into Chewie, framed by the flickering lamplight, his eyes softly sympathetic and preforring a bit of metal sheet, what appeared to be half of a small mammal smothered in sauce resting on it.

He swallowed hard, nodded, and took it, hunching over the meal like an animal wary of pursuit as he looked anywhere but Chewie, terrified of seeing care and warmth there, and just as terrified of having to admit to himself that he reciprocated.

He was Han _Solo_ , dammit, and he was not going to cuddle up to Chewie like an oversized stuffed Tooka doll. What was he, fucking seven?

He spat out a curse as he burned his finger on the hot grease, only to realise it was the wrong hand he had brought up to his mouth. He spat it out – _shit, he needed a fucking shower_ – and looked at it, saw the dirty blood on his palm and realised he’d been digging nails in.

Hastily stuffing the offending hand down his pocket, he went to lift the remaining food to his mouth when he was half-strangled by a wall of fur.

The durasteel, and meat and bones on it, dropped with a clatter as Chewie grabbed his head and pulled him tight against his torso, fur rubbing against his face and paw resting heavy on his head as he pretended not to cry. “ _It’s going to be just fine, Han_.”

He snorted harshly, freeing his arm with an effort to wipe away the tears. “I know that, fuzzball,” he said thickly, but made no effort to break away from the hug.

* * *

“Hey, Solo!” said the Rebel Pilot, just a little impatiently, still slightly drunk from last night’s partying in Bright Tree Village (the fourth consecutive night of giddy celebration, if anyone was counting), “I said what’s with the Wookiee? You pick him up off Kessel and then look after him?”

The kid meant it good-naturedly; Han grinned easily, cockily, shining like a sun, and said “yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Chewie clubbed him over the head lightly and he staggered before snorting.

The pilot waltzed off, having received his answer, and Chewie bared his teeth in a mock-threat. “ _Laugh it up, then, baldie_.”

Han pulled him over for a hug.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all humans are fur-less to Wookiees!  
> Comments are appreciated!


End file.
